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Stay away from this elf doll
When buying gifts, I often go to antique shops first. I'm in the mind set that if I ask someone what they want and buy it, that's not a gift, that's just buying something for someone. I also struggle to find ideas from modern technology as everyone has their own preferences and desires. However in antique stories, you can find some gems in the rough, and I guarantee that that gift would be unique. This is something I strive for. I love seeing the reaction when giving a gift that they themselves had never thought they wanted. It was because of this that I found myself once again browsing the dusty shelves of a store I found on the way to my son, Jason's house. He had moved out a year ago, and had been looking to start a family soon. So my goal was simple, find a nice house gift for Christmas. Jason was a classic lover of vintage aesthetic, something he probably picked up from me, and was a style getting pretty popular in this day and age. I made some laps around the store until I found something which made light-bulbs flash atop my head. A small antique sewing machine. These are used a lot for decoration, rather than use. Sometimes they're used in high end store displays for older style clothes. What didn't appeal to me however, was the decrepit elf doll that sat next to it. I gently pushed it over and picked up the hefty contraption, the robust metals of the machine weighing it down significantly. The store clerk noticed me struggling in my age, and waddled over to help. Something I often neglected to ask for, but heartily welcome when offered. I had it boxed, checked out, and took over to my car. Happy, I carried on my way to Jason's house. When I pulled up to Jason's driveway, I sneakily rummaged around the car for the wrapping paper and tape I packed earlier. I peeked inside to make sure the ride hadn't disturbed its aged slumber, and my heart dropped. To me, there must have been a mistake. Sat atop the sewing machine, in the spare space left in the box, was the worn out elf doll from before. Staring at me with cracked porcelain skin, and detailed glass eyes. I sighed, feeling the clerk must have thought I was after them both at the store due to their close proximity. However all hope wasn't lost. I knew I needed to head the same way back, which would give me a chance to return it after the weekend. So I suppressed the guilt as long as I kept in mind to remember to return it. The weekend went great. Though it had only been a year since Jason moved out of town, we conversed like no time had passed. He loved the gift and emphasized that he looked forward to getting something like that every visit. A joke in one breath, but something I secretly wanted to try keep up in the other. Sadly the time came to leave, and I slowly trudged my way to the car. Trying to make the moments last. When I settled down in the drivers seat, my heart jumped as I saw the elf doll sitting in the passengers side, staring at me. Through my joy I had completely forgotten about that things existence. Something I chastised myself for, feeling guilty I almost forgotten to return it otherwise. Though I must have also forgotten that I moved it too, as I only recalled seeing it when working on gift wrapping in the backseat. I set a destination on my GPS to swing by the antique store, and made my way home. Luckily for me, the same store clerk from a few days prior was working when I arrived. He was daintily sitting at his post, not paying much mind to things. It took me a few attempts to get his attention, which he lapped up when he saw that he was going to be useful. Bless him. I pointed at my hand written receipt of the sewing machine bought days before, which I could immediately see he was worried there was a problem with. I hastily emphasised that the sewing machine was fine, and that I had a different problem to what he may have thought. He perked up at this. There's nothing a passionate store clerk loves more than a nice fun mystery. I pulled out the doll from my bag, and let him hold it. He held it up to his face, inspecting the torn green outfit, and the faded cracked skin of the decrepit elf doll. I told him how it was against the item bought, and that it was boxed by mistake. I felt a little bad that the mystery that excited him was that simple, but was ready to call it quits there. He furrowed his brow, some reason not immediately reacting with joy at my helpful amendment. Instead, he just lifted his head, and meekly told me it wasn't his. This transferred the dumbfounded look on to my face. Running the events back in my head to see if I had made a mistake. This lead to us just going back and forth, telling each other our side of things. I explained how I found it, and how it was next to the bought item, leading to me thinking he boxed it by mistake. On the other hand, he only rebutted with the fact that they never had any such item in their store. I offered to let him keep it, but he said, even free, it was in too bad of a condition to sell. And insisted that I take it home. Defeated I waddled back to my car, not knowing what to do. Knowing it was bizarrely my possession, I now had less care as I slung it to the drivers seat, and made my way home. When I was finally settled back in my comfortable living room, I took the time to study the strange object I now owned. It looked like it was a beautiful doll... once. Its eyes had lost the life it had when it was first created, now just a dull husk, devoid of colour. The skin was cracked in many places, neglect worn on it through unhealing scars. Its hair lay clumped, some unknown substance once used the keep it styled now just matted and distressed it further. Its outfit resembled a classic helper of Santa, but the age took away the magic it attempted to convey. To me, I wouldn't have given this doll to anyone if given the choice. So I made the fair decision to throw it away. I lived peacefully with that decision until that peace was broken. Only a number of days later, I was doing my daily errands. Cleaning my most used spots in the house. Making sure to check the nook and crannies for collected dust balls. I reached my hand deep behind my sofa to give it a quick wipe, then my heart jumped up to my throat. My hand brushed something alien to my home. After catching my breath, I slowly reached down, and pinched the disgusting feeling with my fingertips. Slowly I pulled it up, only to be met with the dead eyes that were becoming all to familiar to me. It was drenched. Carrying the terrible weather from the outside with it. As much as I tried to explain this way, how I possibly disgruntled a neighbour who thought I was fly-tipping, or that an animal dragged it back in, smelling my home on it; nothing truly wrote away my fears. I want to say that was a one off. Sadly, it happened not once, but three separate times. Each time I dragged it further away, and each time, it returned in heart jumping spots, carrying remnants of its journey with it. I shamefully threw it in the river on the last attempt. I even tied a few metal weights to its body. I felt guilty about the idea of littering in nature, but it was an ideal permanent end, making sure if someone was trying to distress me with it, they couldn't get it back without an excessive amount of effort. I no longer jumped at the sight of the doll. I now felt sorrow at this strange accursed item. Sitting in the middle of my bathtub. Large gashes in the fibreglass of the tub in line with the weights it looked like it dragged. A mystery I was terrified to solve. I decided to give it one final grave. A fitting end, one we respectfully give to loved ones. I put the roughed up doll into a fine antique box I decided was fitting. I bagged a fold away shovel and headed to a quiet space in the local park. I felt that if some sort of paranormal entity was involved, it wanted a fitting end. My mind played stories in my head about a girls spirit that struggled to move on. Or a grieving mothers spirit mourning the loss of a child. I respectfully gave it a nice ceremony in the park. Replicating the ceremonies I'd loved of my dear friends passings. My final vigil was a lit candle which swayed and danced as I walked away, feeling a mild sense of peace during my exit. I was ready to go home and enjoy anything on TV that didn't relate to horror. No matter how complacent you get, you can always be startled. Maybe it was my unwarranted expectation of the transpired event, but my old heart didn't appreciate the beating it received when I saw my carpet clawed up with small dirty marks. The scramblings, reminiscent to a startled cat soaked in mud, lead around the house, settling on my favourite arm chair. There it sat, very much carrying the wear of dirt and haste. But still in one piece. My empathy had ran dry, and all that remained was a strong burning desire to be rid of this accursed doll once and for all. I dragged it out into the yard, and swung open the neglected grill I had sitting in the yard. I poured all the chemicals I could find in the shed which boasted about the dangers of how flammable they were. Once the cocktail was mixed, I flicked a match onto it, and almost took my eyebrows off. I walked away, a sense of finality in my heart. That night I tried my best to sleep easy. I tried my hardest to squeeze my eyes and blank out the night until morning. But no matter how hard I tried, sleep wouldn't come. All because of the charred black melted eyes staring at me from the other side of the bed. Life got significantly harder after that. Each night I was tormented by the presence of the doll. Always finding new ways to surprise me. But that was overshadowed by the events that happened throughout each day. Each time I'd come home, I'd return to the smell of something burning. Plastic. Paper. Food. I'd rush around my house trying to find the source, and when I did, I'd stamp out the small patch of flames immediately. Without fail I'd look close by and see the doll sat somewhere, staring in the direction of the fire, holding a lighter, or matches. I stopped stocking anything that could start a fire in my house. Yet this didn't reprieve these events. I'd still find a small fire in my house, accompanied by the doll holding a fire-starter kit, only these times I didn't recognise them. I was riddled with a sense of anxiety. I would dread going home to start the cycle all over again, yet I feared worse the idea of not coming home in time. This dichotomy tore me apart inside, taking years off my life. When I didn't leave the house, the fires would still happen, often catching me off guard. Either mid nap, or in the middle of an errand. My house is slowly getting ruined each day, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'm scared that one day I won't make it home in time. Or worse, I won't make it out. Category:Christmas Category:Reddit Pastas